Potpourri!
by tykimikkity
Summary: The Avengers and the countries — unknowingly on the same three-hour plane flight. Everything rapidly dwindles into chaos. One-shot.


**_Potpourri!?_**

* * *

_/potpourri/ n: any mixture, especially of unrelated objects, subjects, etc; a collection of miscellaneous literary extracts_

(recommended reading music: Baccano OST ~ 01 Baccano no theme)

* * *

[**11:58 am**]

The day had started simply enough. He had drunk his usual morning coffee from the café shop that was located several blocks away from his apartment; and he had also had a nice conversation with the equally nice cafe waitress who he assumed lived in the shop because she was always there when he came in.

Everything had been simple and usual.

Of course, there was the fact that the entire team had been called into Avengers Tower at 5 o'clock in the morning, but he had been fine with that because he was used to waking up at such an hour – especially if his help was needed (he was a hero after all) ... So, why exactly had it turned out like this?:

_Bang! Bang!_

"Everyone needs to shut up now!" shouted the Swiss passenger, the end of his held rifle – that somehow had gotten past the security check – still billowing out a steady stream of smoke.

"You stupid fucking bastard!" growled one of the Italian passengers, red-faced and teary-eyed and soaked from head to toe… and pointing a pistol – that had also somehow gotten past the security check – at no one in particular. "You're going to bring this whole plane down!"

"My, my, this is getting quite out of hand," murmured the Russian passenger, his once nice suit also dripping with water, twirling a metal water pipe in hand and slamming it so hard against the side window that it actually _cracked_, "da?"

"Alfred, you git!" the British one muttered in a dark tone, before he launched himself off of his seat to grab the glasses-wearing passenger by the scruff of his suit. "This is all your bloody fault!"

"Dude," the assaulted one replied in a dissonantly chilled manner, "how the hell was I supposed to know that _he_ was going to be on this plane? How was I supposed to know that both flight attendants would be knocked out? I'm not psychic, man."

"Mon dieu!" came the French passenger who was lying sprawled out across three passenger seats, speaking through his stringy and wet hair and holding a bloody napkin to the bullet-sized wound on his shoulder. "I'm still bleeding out here, you know? And I'm still drenched too!"

"Save meeee!" cried the other Italian above all the other voices as he entangled himself in a parachute pack that he seemed to have produced from nowhere.

Boom!

A flurry of colorful papers suddenly exploded from the other side of the cabin, blinding everyone with bright and white ink. This blinding tornado of white and bright was sliced in half by an axe that seemed to fly out of nowhere – it was an axe that nearly decapitated the French passenger.

… Steve was very certain that the day had started simply enough.

* * *

[**5:14 am**]

All six honorary and founding members of the Avengers sat around the square table, eyeing the SHIELD captain who had just detailed them with a lengthy report. They wore mixed expressions. Several of them had nasty heads of bed-hair, while others had dark bags sagging beneath their otherwise alert eyes.

"A vacation." Tony repeated, eyebrows raised. "Wow."

"And we're going to be riding on what of those metal, flying contraptions to reach our destination?" Thor asked for confirmation.

"Yes." Fury nodded.

All Avengers felt a feeling of suspicion tug at their stomachs.

"I-I'd rather not travel via plane." Bruce interjected with a slight frown."It wouldn't be very safe for the other passengers."

"Well," Fury sighed, "you're going to have to, because a SHIELD protocol assessment station is near the destination of your vacation area and you all need to take it."

"I knew there was a catch…" Tony muttered under his breath.

"The flight leaves at 10:00 am; and since I didnt book thr tickets early enough, several of you will be sitting in different sections of the plane." Fury finished with a strange, yet oddly knowing smirk. "And just in case you haven't realized: you all need to go in incognito."

* * *

[**9:41 am**]

A bright red car swerved wildly past the many cars slowly driving along Summit Street – it was a street was directly connected to U.S Summit Airport. Despite the erratic swivels and turns of the car, any passerby would have admitted that the driver of said car must have been skilled because an unskilled driver definitely would not have been able to drive so badly and live.

The ongoings in the red car were more or less chaotic than the driving of the car itself. The car had two passengers, both of whom were distinctly Asian-looking.

"Brother," came the dull voice of the passenger who sat in the shotgun of the car, "you're driving like a drunk person. Please be more careful."

"It's not my fault, aru!" the chastised driver complained in a shrill voice. "You're the one who brought all of these firecrackers! I can barely move my arms!"

It indeed was true – and it indeed was a shocking sight. The entirety of the red car was filled with firecrackers, so much so that the only visible parts of the passengers were their faces and hands. In fact, all of the windows of the car had been rolled down in an attempt to provide more room for the passengers, but all it did was make the car look like it had four stubby wings protruding from its windows.

"Firecrackers aren't even allowed on planes, aru!"

"Brother, watch out for that fire hydrant."

Bang!

The entire car rumbled and shook with the sudden impact.

"…I meant the _other_ fire hydrant, brother."

"Aiyaa!"

The car lurched on forward.

* * *

[**9:43 am**]

Natasha found the automated effeminate voice that spoke on the airport's PA system a couple octaves short of annoying. It was too robotic to be a human voice, but it was also too human to be a robotic voice. It was quite the dilemma.

She slid on her headphones to block out the noise of the bustling airport and took a quick look at her watch. She clicked her tongue in annoyance and searched the crowd that gathered around the bathroom at the other side of the port. Of course Thor would hear the call of nature only minutes before the plane took off; and of course he would adamantly refuse to wait until they boarded the plane. She hoped that the others were having more luck than she was – at whichever section of the plane they were boarding.

Her eyes scanned the soon-to-be passengers that were lounging around the port platform. There were so many people, each with their own lives playing out before them. She briefly wondered where exactly _they_ were heading off too.

Natasha was drawn from her thoughts, senses sharpened suddenly, as she felt the shadow fall upon her. She glanced upwards and saw that the shadow belonged to a large man with silvery hair, dark blue eyes, and a smiling face – a face that Natasha found oddly familiar. The man would have come off as professional to Natasha with his pristine business suit and attire – that is, if it were not for the light pink scarf that was wrapped so tightly around his neck.

"May I sit?" the man asked politely, gesturing to the chair beside her. It was evident that he had a slight Russian accent.

"Sure," Natasha smiled politely, pulling her headphones off and pulling her mask into place, "there's plenty of room."

The man complied, setting his oddly bulky suitcase beside his feet. Natasha eyed the sight suspiciously, but her primal instinct told her that nothing in the bag was particularly dangerous. Still…

"The weather is very nice, isn't it?" the man questioned amicably.

Natasha glanced out the glass windowpane wall behind her, before she nodded with a smile: "Yeah, it's really beautiful outside today."

"It's almost as beautiful as you." The man's smile widened in such a fashion that Natasha began to find him unnerving.

She, however, kept on her façade and shook her head sheepishly before batting her eyelashes at him: "You're not flirting with me, are you?"

"I don't know," he replied, looking honestly confused and strangely vulnerable for a moment; his expression, however, then sharpened, "but I do know that I prefer yellow much more than I do red nowadays."

Natasha's heart skipped a beat and she suddenly felt uncomfortably sweaty beneath her blonde wig. Her entire body tensed; her muscles poised readily; her eyes sharpened like daggers. The man's face tugged at a distant part of her memory.

Suddenly, however, the man gestured to the window behind them and pointed to a golden patch of sunflowers that grew outside in the courtyard beyond the window.

"Their used to be red roses there." The man explained. "They replaced them with sunflowers this year, I think. It's a good thing too. Roses may seem dangerous and pointy, but they are actually very vulnerable and weak. They need to be taken good care of, or they'll die."

"Are you a gardener?" Natasha questioned, feigning surprise.

"No, but I like flowers. Pretty ones don't grow where I live." The man smiled wider again. He tilted his head: "why do you ask?"

"Oh, well," Natasha gestured offhandedly to his suitcase, "it's just that you seemed like more of the business type."

The man looked at her in surprise, before he picked up his case and placed it on his lap. He prepared to open it, but a sharp voice suddenly cut him off—

"ница."

Both looked up in unison and found themselves gazing at the steely gaze of a young woman who shared a striking resemblance to the suitcase-holding man.

"N-Natalya!" the man stuttered, shooting up from his seat. A look of fear crossed his face.

"ница." The young woman – apparently named Natalya – repeated. Her bitter and hateful gaze was fixated on Natasha's face.

Ница.

Natasha recognized the word.

It was Russian.

Russian for 'traitor'.

Natasha froze. She recognized this woman as well, but she couldn't recall from where. Her gaze hardened.

"ница." The said woman repeated. "ница. Ница. Ница—

"Natalya!" the man hissed, dropping his suitcase altogether – Natasha noted that the case hit the ground with a metal clack. The man's eyes brightened dangerously, and the former Russian spy came to realize that the man's eyes weren't blue as she had previously thought but _purple_. "Enough."

The young woman's (Natalya's) eyes widened in shock, but she quickly shut her mouth. She did not speak any further, but her eyes bore dangerously into Natasha's face.

"I'm sorry about my sister." The man sighed, suddenly becoming sheepish; he bent down to pick up his suitcase and walked over to the young woman's side. "She may come off as crazy, but she is a very sweet girl. Don't take what she said to heart."

"Oh no, it's fine." Natasha waved the two off in a slight state of confusion.

The man gazed at her for a moment, before he turned his head towards the other side of the platform.

"Well, I go look for the rest of my friends and family now. Come, Natalya."

And the strange siblings departed. Thor would take their place by Natasha's side, wearing a perturbed expression:

"I have just experienced something very strange…"

"You're telling me." Natasha muttered back.

* * *

[**9:48 am**]

Bruce impatiently rubbed his hands together as he watched Clint place both of their luggages in the plastic bin. Clint, feeling a stare on his back, turned back towards the scientist with a slight smile. The line to the full-body scanner ahead of them seemed to be stagnant which simply added to Bruce's nerves.

"It'll be alright, Banner." the archer said as he rolled his neck. "It'll be over before you know it."

"That's what you said when that red car nearly crashed into us." Bruce mumbled.

"Well, I'm saying it again." Clint replied with a mixture of mischievousness and amicableness. "This entire thing is probably going to turn out to be nothing."

"What do you mean I have to pay double to get my stuff on board, you bastard?" exclaimed an evidently angry and accented voice. "Zwingli, that dumb Prussian, and that stupid Dane got their things on board for a third of what you're telling me to pay, dammit!"

The two Avengers turned away from their own conversation and towards the one going on between the strange-looking trio standing a ways off. Every member of the trio was dressed in a suit. Two members of the trio appeared to be something akin to twins, while the other member of the trio contrasted the other two's appearance greatly. He was by far taller than the twins and was also paler and blonder.

"F-Fratello, please be quiet!" the more effeminate one of the two twins whispered to the other, tugging on his sleeve nervously. Bruce noticed that the young man had a strange pack strapped to his back.

"Are you wil'ng to 'rgain?" the tallest of the trio asked in a deep and husky voice. It was hard to distinguish what he was saying, especially since he appeared to be chewing on a piece of straw.

"B-Bargain?" the angry-looking one stuttered, taking a step back as the taller man towered over him — he suddenly wasn't looking as angry as before; rather, he looked somewhat intimidated.

"'es, 'rgain."

"It's okay, Mr. Netherlands." the evidently more passive twin said quickly, reaching into his pocket to pull out a bulky envelope. "I'll pay the full price to get my and my fratello's things on board!"

"'kay then." the tall man nodded, taking the envelope and pocketing it. He leaned over and whispered something into the formerly angry twin's ear, before turning on his heels and leaving.

"D-did we just witness some black market smuggling …?" Bruce whispered quietly.

"Maybe." Clint admitted with a nod.

"Shouldn't we go and… get them?"

"If we do go after them and it turns out they have nothing to do with it, we'll just cause more trouble for ourselves." Clint murmured. "I'll just keep an eye on them."

"F-Fratello, I feel like we're suddenly being stalked by people!"

"Shut up, you idiota!"

* * *

[**9:40 am**]

Thor pushed open the bathroom doors and let out a sigh of relief, having waited in line t get in for five whole minutes. The feeling of relief, however, was quickly snuffed out as he realized there was also a line within the bathroom itself.

"Mankind must be cursed by nature itself." Thor muttered to himself in pain. The fact that his disguise consisted of a pair of skinny jeans didn't very well help his pain either.

"I feel you, man!" agreed the tall blonde young man who stood in line just in front of him. The man had his back to him, but Thor could tell that he was quite muscular and youthful.

"I'm glad I know someone who understands my hardships." Thor replied, shifting to a position that was more comfortable to his bowels.

"No problem." the man said back amicably, turning to face the Asgardian. "Things aren't that rough back at my plac—" As soon as the man's bright blue eyes landed on Thor's face, he froze and his eyes widened. "For fanden!" came the man's Danish shout, as he launched himself backwards and effectively landed on the shorter man standing behind him. "Det er sgu rigtigt!"

Thor blinked in surprised and quickly lowered himself to the ground to help the fallen man. The man however withdrew himself and instead began to shake the man whom he had effectively crushed beneath him. Thor backed away with confusion.

"Norge! Norge!" the man whispered to the other man trapped beneath him as he pointed squarely at Thor's face. "Look!"

The man — dubbed "Norge" — beneath the other man blinked slowly at the man on top of him, before fixing his gaze onto Thor himself. His otherwise dull eyes sharpened suddenly, and he pushed the other man off of him.

"_Þórr…?" _

Thor. It was spoken in Asgardian.

* * *

[**7:47 am**]

"Uh, Prussia?"

"Yes, minion number one?"

"Uno, I'm not your minion, amigo; and dos… what are _those_ for?"

"These, my minion, are for fun."

"Pardonnez-moi, but what exactly do _those_ have to do with fun?"

"You will see the awesome unfolding of my plan when we get on the plane!"

"Uh… Si…"

"Oui…"

"KESESESESE—-

"Bruder, we have to go _now_!"

"—eseses...se."

* * *

[**10:05 am**]

Steve and Tony slid their way past other passengers and towards their assigned seats. They had been given tickets to Section A of the plane and, therefore, did not have to travel very far to get to their row. The section was the closest one to the flight-control compartment.

Their section of the seating area was located at the fifth row to the right of the boaring cplatform. Tony's seat was the closest to the window, so he was the first to slide into their row. As he reached what he thought was his seat and began to sit down, he was nearly given a heart-attack. The cause of this heart-attack: the person — rather the ghost — who was already sitting there.

"Ouch!" said ghost yelped as Tony sat on him.

"Woah!" screamed Tony in horror as he jumped away from the ghost. "Where did you come from?"

"I-I was sitting here the entire time…" the ghost mumbled, looking awfully dejected.

"Come on, Stark," Steve frowned, gesturing towards the vacant seat beside the ghost-like man, "move. You're squishing the poor fella to death." That was when Steve noticed that said man was dressed in a very lavish suit.

"Sorry, man," Tony apologized in a not-so-apologetic tone, as he patted the ghost on the shoulder; he sat down on the vacant seat beside the ghost and turned towards it with an eyebrow raised: "Does this happen to you a lot?"

"You have no idea…" the ghost mumbled sheepishly, before putting out his hand for Tony to shake. "My name is Matthew Williams. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Tony took his hand, surprised by the man's firm grip and said: "Ton—"

"His name is Tom Barks." Steve interjected quickly, sitting beside the billionaire and nudging him hard in the ribs. His lips moved in a way that said 'incognito, remember?', but his eyes sharpened in such a way that said 'if you mess this up, I'll kill you'.

"Oh, are you a friend of his?" Matthew questioned politely, looking past Tony and towards Steve.

"I think acquaintances is a better word." Tony interjected coyly.

"We know each other." Steve agreed, squinting past his disguise-glasses at the man and reaching out to shake his hand. "I'm Terry Berkins. It's nice to meet you."

The young man smiled politely and shook Steve's hand, peering into Steve's face all the while. The man's strangely violet eyes suddenly widened and he yanked his hand away from Steve's grip.

"What the actual fuck?!" Matthew shouted, shooting up in his chair and staring at Steve in disbelief. The man's polite facade was completely blown apart by his uncouth swear.

Steve and Tony froze at the phrase. Was their cover blown?

"Woah, woah," Tony exclaimed, attempting to calm the man, "what's wrong? I know my friend here is pretty ugly but…"

Matthew continued to stare at Steve for several minutes, before he shook his head and slid back down into his seat. He laughed a reassuring laugh, apologized, and explained that Steve reminded him of someone he used to know. Steve and Tony, of course, didn't buy it. The fact that Matthew began cursing a man named Alfred under his breath didn't help his cause either.

* * *

[**11:20 am**]

The plane was in air and it had been for quite some time. The rumble and hum of the engines were loud and clear, but they weren't loud enough to drown out the sounds of the passengers that were beginning to move about the plane.

Clint shifted uncomfortably in his seat in Section C, suddenly regretting the gallon of cappuccino coffee he had chugged several minutes prior to boarding the plane. After several long and grueling seconds of uncomfortable shifting, he turned towards Bruce who sat reading beside him and quickly blurted out the importance of him using the lavatory, before he quickly leapt from his seat and ran down the aisle. Banner stared after him, muttering a quiet 'I told you so' under his breath.

There were four bathrooms — rather portapotties — on the plane total. The closest portapotty was located in Section D, so Clint had to track his way backwards, awkwardly brushing past flight assistants rolling food trolleys, to reach the haven. Once he did, he found that there was a goddamned line of _giants_ leading to the porta potty. He cursed his luck.

"I-I'm telling you, Sve!" the bright-eyed young man standing nearest to the porta potty exclaimed to the apparently brooding and ridiculously tall man behind him. "It really was him!"

"...'ight." the tall man — Sve — mumbled in a manner that Clint interpreted at sarcasm.

"If Norge didn't pull us out of the bathroom at the moment, I swear he woulda fried us with lightning!"

Wait…

Clint did a double-take.

… What?

"He probably came down from Asgard just to kill us 'cause we don't do rituals or whatever for him anymore!"

"'ou're c'azy, Den." Sve mumbled.

Clint's eyes narrowed. Had Thor blown his cover already? And how, exactly, did these people know of the existence of Asgard?... True, Asgard was frequently mentioned in Norse mythology as was Thor; and the two men did look somewhat Scandinavian, but still… The manner in which they were talking made it difficult to tell which Thor they were talking about — the mythological one or the real one. Clint concluded, however, that it couldn't have been pure irony that they mentioned Thor when Thor himself was on the plane…

Clint supposed that he was over thinking things. Fury did say to keep peace on the plane, despite whatever happened.

"Whatever!" the other man — Den apparently — shouted loudly. "I'll be ready t'defend myself when he comes!"

* * *

[**11:18 am**]

The plane was in air, and Bruce was uncomfortable with that fact.

Bruce Banner was certain that the entire world was trying to get him to "hulk out". He just wished it was more subtle in its way of doing so. For instance, if the world had really wanted him to turn into a green monster, wouldn't it be best for it to try to catch him in surprise rather than plunging him into chaos from the start and allowing him to get used to it?

Chaos was all that was going around him at the moment. The two Chinese-looking men sitting in front of him were bickering loudly to each other — rather the more feminine-looking Chinese man was doing all the yelling, while the bushy-eyebrowed Chinese man was silently ignoring him (there was also a Korean man sitting in that row and it appeared as if he was reaching for the feminine-looking Chinese man's chest). Behind him, three Mediterranean-looking men sat bickering as well. Two of the three were shouting in what Bruce thought was Greek and Turkish, while the third member of the group was mumbling under his breath in... Egyptian? Strangely enough, despite their immature behavior, all of the bickering passengers were wearing suits.

"That is such a disrespectful way to treat your brother, aru!" came the shout of the feminine Chinese passenger.

The only relatively quiet row in Section C of the plane was Bruce's own row. The Japanese man (who also happened to be wearing a business suit) sitting to his right was quietly flipping through what looked like a comic book, while Clint who was sitting to his left looked like he was about to nod off — that is, if it were not for the fact that he was continuously squirming in his chair.

"Sir," came a quiet and polite voice to Banner's right, "I'm sorry if my friends are disturbing you."

Banner turned his head and met the calm brown eyes of the comic-reading Japanese man. He blinked in surprise and shook his head:

"T-They're not disturbing me really..."

"Pardon me," the Japanese man apologized again, "I just thought that you looked uncomfortable." He paused and extended his hand towards Bruce: "My name is Honda Kiku, or as you westerners would say it: Kiku Honda."

"Brian," Bruce introduced himself with his assigned fake identity and with a mild smile, "Brian Bell."

"It's a pleasure, Bria—

"No, Kiku likes me better. Meeeeee!" came a string of English from the Turkish passenger.

"Wait," Bruce frowned suddenly, tilting his head, "what you said earlier... Are all the people in here your friends?"

"We're more like acquaintances really." Kiku explained, closing his comic. "We're all heading for the World Meeting at Milan Point. Half of the passengers on this plane are representatives of their respective countries."

That explained the hotpot of languages, but was it really possible for such... immature men and women to be representatives?

"If their arguments are getting to you," Kiku spoke suddenly, digging into the large duffel bag that rested beside his feet, "you can read some of my manga to bide your time." He pulled out a comic from his bag and offered it to Bruce.

Bruce sheepishly accepted the man's offer with a quiet and awkward thanks, but not before peering into the duffel bag and realizing that over one-hundred comics were loaded into it. He cracked open the comic he had relieved and began to read, as did the Japanese man beside him. That was when Clint suddenly grabbed his arm, muttered something his bowels exploding, and ran off to what Bruce presumed was the restroom.

It was seconds after that strange occurrence that another strange occurrence happened. A suit-wearing man with bright green eyes and a sunny disposition slid right into Clint's vacant seat next to him. Bruce stared at the man in surprise, unsure of how to react.

"Sorry, amigo!" the man apologized quickly with a smile that was too bright for Bruce's eyes. "Is it okay if I borrow this seat for a while, por favor?"

"Uh, sure." Bruce nodded, before he chuckled. "I don't think my friend is going to come back for a while anyways."

"Hello, Antonio-san." Kiku suddenly spoke from beside him, greeting the sunny man.

"Hola, Kiku!" Antonio pipped. He then gestured to the row across from them where an arguing man and woman (a couple perhaps) sat with slight scowls. "Elizeveta and the Young Master are bickering over there, and I didn't want to aggravate them or anything."

"Oh, I see," Kiku frowned, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sure it'll be over soon." Antonio laughed lightly, before he turned his head towards Bruce and gazed at him intently. "Hm...?"

"... Is there something wrong?"

"You're..." Antonio's smiled in a purely curious manner. "You're not human...?"

Bruce felt his blood run cold.

"Antonio-san!" Kiku said curtly with an equally curt frown. "That was very rude."

Antonio stared past Bruce at Kiku with a perturbed tilt of his head and then returned his gaze to Bruce's pale expression.

"Sorry about that, amigo!" Antonio laughed lightly, rubbing the back of his head. "I've hardly had enough sleep, so I'm totally out of it. Plus, I watched this really creepy horror movie yesterday night and one of the monsters looked exactly like you, so that's why I... I mean... "

"Antonio-san..." Kiku sighed.

"I-It's fine." Bruce smiled indifferently, despite the fact that he was frowning deeply on the inside.

"Oi, Antonio!" came a sudden and thickly German-accented cry.

Down the aisle came a pale young man with shockingly white hair and maroon irises. Unlike literally every other person on the plane, he was not wearing a business suit. He looked eerily inhuman; he looked as if he didn't belong on the Earth.

"Gilbert!" Antonio acknowledged in surprise as he waved at the albino man. "What's up, amigo?"

"Plan Alpha Awesome Fun and Badass is about to start and I need the help of my minions!" the albino pronounced loudly, right before letting out a cackling laugh.

"Que? I thought the plan was called Plan Amazing Smackdown?" Antonio frowned.

"Well, I changed the name to amplify its awesomeness!" Gilbert explained with a random thumbs-up. He reached over and grabbed Antonio by the arm. "Off to awesomeness!"

And with that the two disappeared, leaving Bruce in a slight state of shock. Perhaps the world _would_ win in drawing out the Hulk.

"Bell-san," Kiku suddenly said with a sigh, face palming into his comic, "I'm sorry, but I don't think reading my manga will help calm your nerves if _those_ three are up to something."

* * *

[**11:49 am**]

Thor's feelings were still somewhat hurt from the strange event that had unfolded that morning, and the dull drone of the turbines on the plane didn't help him feel better in the least bit. After the two men had muttered his name in Asgardian, they had darted out of the bathroom like cats being chased by a bulldog. Above all, he was very curious about how they had known how to speak Asgardian. They couldn't be Asgardian themselves — Thor didn't recognize them... It left him very perturbed indeed.

That was why when he saw the tall blonde man again sliding into a seat that was only five rows ahead of Thor's own seat accompanier by an even taller man, Thor felt his heart skip a beat. They sat with a rowdy group of three others, all of whom were speaking in a language that he couldn't understand.

"Thor..." Natasha said warningly beside him, having heard his recounted tale and having seen his widened gaze. "You better not be thinking what I think you're thinking..." She reached for his arm, but he was already up and moving towards the group of men.

"Pardon me," Thor began as he approached the group of five, "I would like to inquire something of you."

Five heads turned simultaneously in Thor's direction, and five bodies launched themselves into the air not soon after.

"Jumalauta!" swore the short and blonde one of the group in what Natasha could identify as Finnish for 'God help (me)!'. Said blonde jumped back towards the larger blonde man who stood behind him and who in turn placed a protective hand on his shoulder.

"Vad i helvete..!?" muttered the said tall blonde in Swedish — 'What the hell...!?' Natasha translated.

"Dj"fulsins Helv¡ti!" the shortest and strangely silver-haired member of the group swore loudly in Icelandic. 'Fucking hell!'— as Natasha could understand it.

"See! I told you" the Danish one of the group exclaimed, literally climbing onto his seat and pointing an accusatory finger at Thor. "He's here to kill us!"

"Hey, like, what's going on here?" questioned a passenger from across the aisle in a thick Polish accent. "Keep your drama away from me please! Liet and I are gossiping!"

"Forget your gossip!" The Danish passenger exclaimed, before extending his hand towards the straw-chewing passenger who sat at the very back of the airplane section."Give me my fucking axe, Netherlands!"

The addressed man grunted and pulled out a large axe from nowhere, weighing it in his hands and chucking it at the Danish man. A nearby flight assistant screamed loudly, as the Danish man deftly caught it with his right hand.

Thor and Natasha stared in confusion at the sight. An axe. From nowhere. Somehow smuggled onto the plane...?

"Well, I'll be leaving now." the man who had been sitting two rows in front of them said with a sigh and with a thick Russian accent. Natasha recognized him as the man whom she had spoken to earlier that day. He paused to pick up his suitcase and exited the cabin, evidently heading for one of the more frontal sections of the plane.

"I ain't going to be electrocuted, you got me?" the Danish man swore loudly, swinging the axe right at Thor's head.

"Why are you acting in such a manner?" Thor exclaimed, quickly and skillfully dodging the axe's blade. "I simply want to know—" He was cut off as the man swung the axe wildly again.

"I, a viking who once conquered and pillaged the greatest of empires, will not be defeated!"

Natasha leapt into action and moved to restrain the deranged man. She leapt over the rows of seats and grabbed his arms, attempting to pin his arms behind his back. He was unusually strong, however, so she was forced to kick his feet from beneath him to catch him off guard. The two tumbled to the ground with Natasha landing on top of him and gaining the upper hand. Before she could attempt to restrain him, however, the entire cabin was suddenly filled with a flurry of colorfully-inked papers.

The Danish man took advantage of the distraction and knocked Natasha off of his back, reaching for his fallen axe and coming to a stand. Thor stood battle-ready but wary. It was at that moment that the Swedish passenger launched himself on the Danish man and the two grappled for control over the axe.

"What are you doing, Sve?!" the Danish man questioned in a bout of confusion and rage.

"'re ov'rea'ting, Den." Sve mumbled, tugging at the axe with what appeared to be inhuman strength.

"Overreacting?!" Den exclaimed, giving the axe one final and powerful tug. "You're just under-reacting!"

The Danish passenger's tug effectively yanked the axe out of the Swedish passenger's grip — and right out of his own as well. The axe flew right across the cabin and right out of it, passing through the blue curtain that separated Section C of the plane from the more frontal sections of the plane.

"Look what you did!" Den protested, right before he was met with quadruple punches that were thrown in unison: one from the Swedish passenger, one from the quiet Norwegian passenger, one from Natasha, and one from Thor himself.

The thunder god did end up hurting the Danish passenger after all.

* * *

[**11:19 am**]

Steve and Tony sighed loudly in unison. Their sighs were however drowned out by the commotion that was reverberating around the cabin.

Across from their row sat the strangest trio in existence. Two members of the trio shared a striking resemblance to each other; they must have been twins. One of the twins wore a strange-looking backpack that looked suspiciously like a parachute pack; the other one was glaring at nothing in particular. The third member of the trio looked shockingly Aryan — blonde hair and icy blue eyes. He was distinctly German-looking, as well as distinctly familiar-looking to Steve. Actually, nearly all of the faces of the passengers in the cabin tugged at Steve's memory.

The strange trio's conversation went something along the lines of this:

"Ve, Ludwig, I miss Kiku!"

"Get over it, you wimp!"

"You'll see Kiku as soon as the plane lands, Feliciano... Now will you please take that ridiculous backpack off?!"

The trio sitting in front of Stark and Steve wasn't any better either. The trio consisted of — as far as Steve and Tony could tell — a Frenchman, a Brit, and an American. And the trio looked as if they were ready to kill each other. Their conversation went along the lines of...

"Git!"

"Grumpy old men!"

"Unrefined idiots!"

The only relatively normal row of passengers in the cabin was the one that was directly behind them — and even that statement was a stretch. Two of the three who sat behind them looked as if they could be siblings (a younger sister and an older brother); this theory was somewhat proved when they began to quietly speak to each other in German. The third member of that row also occasionally threw out a slur of German words, but he appeared way more aggressive than the two apparent siblings. Perhaps he could have been mistaken as the elder sibling of the two, if it were not for his striking appearance: he was an albino. Said albino suddenly rose from his seat and exclaimed loudly:

"The awesome me must depart to gather one of my minions! Don't miss me too much!"

And he exited the cabin, but not before he winked at the French passenger. Said French passenger winked right back at the albino and began to face forward again, but stopped as he caught Steve's eye. All playfulness and amicableness was immediately whipped from his strangely youthful yet aged face; and his eyes became steely.

"Mon dieu..." he murmured as he came to a stand. Tony and Steve raised their eyebrows in unison at his sudden outburst.

"What the bloody hell is wrong now, you frog?" came the British drawl; and the British passenger turned his head, following the Frenchman's gaze. When his forest green eyes landed on Steve's face, he too froze: "What the bloody hell...?"

"Uh," Tony whispered to Steve, "is it me or do they seem to not like you or something?"

"Wait, dudes," the American passenger exclaimed, looking from left to right at the Frenchman's and British man's expressions, "am I missing something or...?" He turned his head, but unlike the others, he met with Tony's gaze first. "OMG, it's Tony Stark!" the American passenger crowed as he reached over his seat and aggressively shook Tony's hand. "I am, like, your biggest fan, man! I wouldn't be where I am in the world today, if it weren't for you! Wait, are the other Avengers here too? Is... Wait..."

"Some disguise." Steve muttered under his breath.

And that was when the American's gaze fell onto Steve's face:

"Oh shit..."

* * *

[**11: 36 am**]

Clint let out a sigh of relief as he exited the porta potty. Everything finally seemed right with the world — that was at least until he walked past the food compartment of Section C of the plane. What he saw was strange — so strange that he had to do a double-take.

Kneeling in the food compartment of Section C of the plane were two men, an albino and a Spaniard. A handful of unfilled water balloons were in the albino's hands, while a hose and a cream-filler were in the Spaniard's hands.

"I already gave Francis ten of these bad boys!" the albino laughed.

"Oh," the Spaniard smiled brightly, "I'm getting so exited already!... I have a feeling Lovi won't be very happy afterwards though..."

"Psh," the albino scoffed, "who cares?!"

"Hmm, we're hitting Section A first, right?"

"Yup!" the albino laughed gleefully, stretching out a water balloon and holding it so that the Spaniard could successfully fill it.

For a moment, Clint considered stopping them. Then, he pictured Steve and Tony soaked from head-to-toe in water and cream; and he decided better of it. He would follow the two, watch the chaos unfold, and laugh his head off.

* * *

[**11:52 am**]

Bruce was mildly concerned with the fact that Clint had yet to return from his trip to the restroom. It made him somewhat nervous; and being nervous was not a good thing for him for all people. Suddenly and abruptly, the bushy-eyebrowed Chinese passenger in front of him shot up from his seat with a loud and unruly cry:

"I can't stand this anymore! I need them now!"

"No, calm down, aru!"

The very same passenger then reached up towards his suitcase compartment and pulled out a stuffed backpack. He dug into that backpack, fending off the other Chinese passenger, and pulled out... a box of matches and a handful of firecrackers and fireworks?!

"Are you crazy, Leon?!" the Turkish passenger behind Bruce exclaimed in horror.

Apparently the bushy-eyebrowed passenger (Leon) was crazy, because he quickly lit the matches and then the ends of the fireworks and firecrackers. Less than a second later, he tossed them in the air and continuously lit them and threw them again.

Several of them went off creating explosions of color and smoke all throughout the cabin. Strangely enough, Bruce felt completely and dissonantly calm during the entire ordeal. Maybe he had experienced so much crazy in the last couple of months that nothing phased him anymore.

"You crazy idiot!"

"We're gonna die, da ze!"

"We're doomed..."

Three firecrackers then landed right on Bruce's lap; and he, in turn, deftly brushed them off of his lap and accidently brushed them right into Kiku's duffel bag. Bruce and Kiku stared at the sparking bag for a moment, before looking at each other in disbelief.

"I am so sorry." Bruce mouthed voicelessly.

A loud BOOM emitted from the duffel bag and a physically impossible amount of comic papers torrented around the cabin and straight out of it to the other cabins.

"My... My manga..." came the anguished reply.

* * *

[**11: 47 am**]

Steve was now the center of attention in the dead-silent cabin and was receiving a mixture of disbelieving looks. The blonde German who had been sitting across from Steve and Tony was the first to speak and break the silence:

"Nein, impossible! It's been over sixty years...!"

And suddenly Steve began to recall exactly why all of the passengers in the cabin had looked strangely familiar to him. He had in fact seen them all before... A very, very long time ago.

"Steve..." Tony muttered cautiously under his breath.

"Ve, Germany," the backpack-wearing Italian passenger murmured, attempting to catch a glimpse of Steve from beyond the German's broad form, "what's going on?"

"Yeah, move, you bastard!" came the angry voice of the other Italian.

After a bunch of shoving, the two Italian passengers finally managed to see Steve for themselves—and they both let out high-pitched screams.

"What the fuck?!"

"Help meee! The enemy has come back from the dead to kill us, help!"

The two Italians clambered over each other.

"Look," Steve drew slowly, standing up just as slowly, "I don't know what's going on here but—-

The curtain leading to Section B of the plane was suddenly flung open and the German-speaking albino and a Spanish-looking man entered the cabin, shortly followed by the Russian passenger and Clint himself.

"Eat awesomeness, you losers!" the albino exclaimed loudly.

And thus the Spaniard and the albino began to rapidly through water-filled and cream-filled balloons all around the room, effectively soaking half of the passengers to the bone. Screams echoed throughout the cabin.

The two Italian passengers reacted the worst to the situation. The back-pack-wearing one pulled the release to his parachute-pack and the parachute ricocheted outwards, covering half of the cabin in white plastic. The other Italian pulled out a pistol from seemingly nowhere and began to wildly fire it — one bullet hit the French passenger square in the shoulder.

"Mon dieu!" the wounded passenger exclaimed, falling backwards slightly. "I've been impaled!"

"Ha!" the British passenger laughed, pointing a mocking finger at the French passenger's face. "Take that, you frog!"

"These people are insane!" Tony exclaimed.

Steve nodded and leapt over the passenger's seat to check up on the wounded passenger. After confirming the wound wasn't serious, he provided a cloth for the French passenger who immediately took it and placed it on his would while applying pressure. It was a very practiced movement.

It was at that moment that the metal door leading to the control room swung open; and one of the flight attendants stepped out into the cabin, looking relatively displeased.

"What the heck is going on—

And he tripped on the lining on the parachute, effectively knocking his head against one of the passenger seats and also knocking himself unconscious. This caused the other flight attendant to abandon his post and step into the cabin — an unfortunate mistake. The parachute-wearing Italian ran right into said flight attendant, causing the attendant to fall backwards and knock his head against the steel floor of the control room. He too was now unconscious.

[**11:58 am**]

_Bang! Bang!_

The Swiss passenger had pulled out his rifle.

* * *

[**12:50 pm**]

The U.S. International Express landed at the airport ten minutes earlier than the landing-time estimated and scheduled. It was surprising, but lucky.

The Avengers wordlessly exited the plane as well as the foreign representatives behind them. If it were not for Steve's and the American representative's piloting skills, they surely would have not survived the flight. After the chaos that had filled the plane had settled, the entire ride had fallen into uncomfortable silence. Both the representatives and the Avengers themselves feared what would happen if they asked any questions, so they kept their mouths shut.

"We should get you to a hospital." Steve murmured to the Frenchman who walked a little ways behind him. "Your wound..."

The Frenchman removed his hand from his shoulder with a small smile, revealing an undamaged shoulder. Steve's eyes widened at the sight.

"I don't know what Alfred plans hiding you like this..." the Frenchman waved him off with a smile. "But thank you for your concern, Captain Rodgers."

Steve stared at him for a moment, before he finally replied: "No problem, General Bonefoy."

Long and drawn out quietness followed.

"Soooo...Never speak of this again?" Tony suggested loudly, breaking the awkward silence.

A mumble of 'yes'es followed.

* * *

**A/N:** And the chaotic tale comes to a close! How was it? It was actually very entertaining to write. Please review! Sorry if there was an OOCness... Y'know, I actually planned to write the avengers coming onto the plane bc of a suspected bomb being placed in it but meh.


End file.
